At first people thought it was a scam. A tattoo place that can show you your future… c’mon. Then people started to realise that it was true.

I’ve debated getting my own tattoo for a while now, but I’ve been debating whether it’s better to no or not.

After a car crash 5 months ago took Deb from me, I reached a point where I needed to know… if there was a reason to continue.

Entering the store, I met the not unpleasant smell of rubbing alcohol and the buzzing of the tattoo machines. There was a small seating area to the left and right. Slightly ahead was the reception desk where a bald, early 30s guy was sitting on his phone. He looked fierce with his face piercings and his sleeved arms telling his story. He looked up at me.

“Hey pal!” He said with a warm smile.

“Umm, hi” I managed to mutter whilst staring at my feet.

“Nervous? Let’s take a seat and have a chat. Not really had anyone to chat to today yet. The names Rex.” He said, grinning as he moved over to me, put his arm around me and lead us to the seats.

“Not much of a talker I guess. Ohhh, the looks get ya?” He said, chuckling away.

“Sorry, just didn’t expect you to be so nice to me.” I said, grimacing inside realising how pathetic I sounded.

“Well you always choose how you are with people and when you know the day you’ll die, you tend to be a bit nicer to people.” Rex said, a little less cheery than he sounded.

I kept quiet. Unsure of how to respond.

“Lemme explain how this works. You can get your story tattooed on your body. You can get the full Shabang or a little piece. You can’t chose the piece though. It’s the next bit of your story that gets tattooed first and you can’t skip it. The most important bit, once it’s on, that’s it. No changing it, even if it’s bad. Events are locked in and no going back.” Rex said calmly. He had clearly done this many times before.

A young woman walked past us from the tatto area and out of the shop. She was sobbing as she went passed.

“Guess she had a bad one. Never an easy sight. You know what her leaving means though?” Rex asked, looking at me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Free seat. You up for it, pal?” Rex said, shifting his eyes into the back of the shop.

I sit awkwardly in the chair of the tattoo parlor. Everyone leaving in either joy or tears as the chair beneath me feels colder and harder to sit on. I fidget slightly, my hands gripping the chair as if I’d fall from such small movements. I don’t know what I’m doing here; I only heard of the rumors and they seemed false, but the more I see people react, the more my mind back peddles.

‘It’s just ink on skin,’ I’d tell myself, ‘all fortune tellers are shit, anyway.’ The words would fill my brain to keep me seated. ‘If this was some “miracle” working, wouldn’t people complain more?’ I’d reason, and the hair standing on legs soothed themselves against my skin once more. I haven’t seen or heard of people complaining about whatever their findings are, so they must’ve seen how bullshit this is, and just kept content with the cool tat. Yep, that must’ve been it.

The next person to leave is a younger fellow…dyed hair and dead eyes. A new tattoo on his arm covered with protective film; it depicts a nameless tombstone. Whether it was his or not, I didn’t care; the instant the receptionist told me he was ready, my hands grew sweaty and breathing didn’t feel right. I stood on stiff legs, robotically walking over as I flashed a quick smile. Everything was going to be okay. Stepping past the blinds into the decently lit room, there stood the artist.

Dark brown hair hung from his shoulders; clothing was baggy, yet form fitting around the wrists and ankles, and most importantly, the man was even deader-looking than the guy who just left. His breathing was shallow as he adjusted in his seat.

“If you want to leave, you can.” My body urged me to leave, and who was I to not listen? I took one look around the room, seeing all the art pieces on the wall before spotting something. My eyes widened, breath quickening in shaky rhythms.

“How did you know about that…?” I pointed; in the wall, hung the lowest was a drawing depicting someone getting shot — my friend getting–

“That one?” he inquired, pointing, “a nice lady entered, determined to see her fate.”

“J-Juliana…” my breaths shook as tears welled in my eyes. Face pale, I felt the urge to throw up; he shouldn’t have known that — no one should’ve known–

“So?” Eyes wide, I shake my head, nearly tripling out the room as I run away. The bell rings, but I don’t hear the full melody before the door shuts and I’m out of the establishment, quickly trying to unlock my car door. Once I’m inside, I rest my head against the steering wheel, calming my breaths as I stare at my hands.

Little stars decorated the knuckles; the same stars in that drawing. I wanted nothing more than to rip my skin off as I rub at my eyes. Why did I come here? To prove imbeciles wrong? Well, how did that turn out? I sigh heavily, coughing slightly as the breath fully escapes like it was clawing my throat to stay inside. Flinching, I look to the side to see the man standing at my window, his pointer finger knocking at my window tauntingly, maniacally grinning. I rolled the window down to tell him off.

“I could provide you relief of this pain,” his eyes held intent in it I’ve never seen in a person before; the screech of “get the hell away!” died down in my throat, “you know what you did, but who’s to say it’ll come back to haunt you?” My vision blurs slightly before it registers I’m crying.

“You’re crazy!”

“I’m not the one who killed their best friend.” Lips trembling, I thought of what to say before keeping a tight line; I had no rebuttals.

“How would… that fix this?”

“Who knows? Everyone’s fate is different, after all.”

“…would I be able to change what I don’t like…? Is fate even changeable?” The words are weak, a pathetic attempt at straw-grabbing.

“Only when you’re not aware of it; once it’s engraved into you, it becomes you; you have to live with it, have to live with it creeping up your bones and crawling within your skin and flesh.” The man leaned closer, “there’s no changing it once it’s you.” I bit my lip, thinking of my options; I could flip him off and drive away, or be an idiot.

“I mean, I’ll just call the police if you disagree; you are a criminal.” Glaring at him, I gave in, getting out my car, shoes hitting the cracked road as I followed the calm man inside. Sitting down at his station, watching as he wiped my leg with alcohol, my heart quickened; my mind telling me to get up and run, yet my body stayed no matter how hard I pushed.

Hours passed as I tried not to stare at the developing ink. Hands itchy from sweat and eyes too unfocused to care. It was only when he pushed his chair back, clearing his throat to gain my attention, did I look down.

…

I didn’t know how to react; it was comical. Funny. I was laughing, just not on the outside as I stared at the drawing gifted to me; the drawing of the fate meant to befall me.

“…is this fate?” I mumbled, following the inky lines, “it’s cruel.”

“Yet fair,” I looked up to meet the man’s eyes; I don’t even know his name. Does anyone? He grinned once again as he leaned closer, “good luck.”

“Good luck,” what a joke; it was pointless to wish such a thing about an otherworldly system. My body moved blindly as I slid out the chair. I felt numb, yet my limbs felt alive. Heart beating regularly, I handed the rest of my pay to the guy before walking out. Oh, there’s someone sitting out in the lobby; they seem nervous. Our eyes meet, and they wither away; do I look scary right now? I find it odd that I don’t care. Leaving the shop, I just stand there. My limbs don’t want to move and my brain isn’t working other than to feed me buzzes. I’m calm, oddly enough.

Subconsciously, I bring my hand up to my shoulder and squeeze it. Nothing. The sound of an engine coming closer instincts me to move. I step out, then there’s flashes as I tumble out onto the road. The full sound of screams surround me as I hear a car door open and out comes the man from earlier with the tombstone tat; he appears dazed before he comes to. I watch, blurry, in time as his expression morphs into one of distraught and fear, his body rushes forward to try and help me, shouting something about staying awake, but my mind gives and I go limp. I believe that’s the last time I opened my eyes.

Had I still been alive, I’d see the nameless tombstone was my own; had I still been alive, I’d know the man was sent to jail for driving “under the influence” and vehicle manslaughter, and once he was released, he’d spend the rest of his days visiting my grave as some form of apology and self-torture. But I’m not, and honestly, I don’t know if what I mentioned above is what happened; I’m no longer there, after all.

I never realized how nervous I would be to get a tattoo. I have a lot of them, and they don’t even really hurt. Every year since the day I turned eighteen, I had gone to tattoo shops all around the world.

I think what scared me most about this one was that this was a specialist. According to local legend, anyone who got a special ink out onto their skin was fated to it.

So far, it had been right every time

I shivered and wrapped my jacket tighter around my body as my friends chatted about what they were going to get.

“You know that it doesn’t work like that right?” Cooper asked. He was the one who convinced us to come do this.

Poor Lily looked terrified. “W-what?” She squeaked. I have a feeling no one told her where we were going.

Dani hooked and arm around her shoulder. “Yep. We’re about to leave our fate in the hands of a tattoo artist.” She was smiling. I knew that the thrill was getting her blood pumping. She’s always been like this.

Lily groaned and covered her face. We kept walking down the busy street until we saw a glowing neon sign.

FATES INK

We all walked in, taking in everything we could see. There were all sorts of people in line, waiting for the same artist. She looked like she was about in her twenties, like us, which made me nervous.

The wait just for check in was crazy. There were at least twenty people in front of us. It took us about an hour to check in, and another thirty minute wait just to be at the front.

Lily looked like she was about to have a panic attack. Her face was buried into Coopers jacket and Dani was rubbing her back.

I looked towards my boyfriend, Nick, and he shrugged. “I guess we’re up first.” I gulped and nodded. He smiled at me encouragingly as I walked up to the artist.

“Hi! My name is Amelia. I’m guessing your here for our specialty?” She asked. Her smile was bright and cheery. Looking at some of her other designs, I relaxed a little bit.

Nodding, I said, “Yeah. Me and my friends are getting one for my birthday.” She grinned and got all of her tools out.

“Ok, first things first,” She said, “Where do you want it?” I turned around and pointed to the back of my neck. “Ok. And you did sign the contract at the front, right? According to the law, none of the artists can be held liable for what happens to you.” I nodded and she started with the tattoo.

I was surprised at the pain of the needle when she first started. I hissed through my teeth, trying not to move. It had taken one visit to teach me that the hard way.

I had a tattoo of a my sisters name on the inside of my arm, and at the end of it there is a little swoop where I had winced a bit to much.

A cool breeze washed over and calmed my nerves. Everything clicked into focus when I felt the needle lift from my neck. She put the bandage on and I thanked her.

I walked out to the lobby and waited for everyone to come back. We decided as a group that we would keep our fates a secret until the bandage could come off.

I was walking back to my apartment with Nick when he stopped and faced me. “What?” I asked him. He had a weird look on his face.

“I know we said we would keep it a secret; but I need to see it. I couldn’t handle it if it was bad.” He actually looked worried.

I laughed. “Ok, ok. You can look.” I turned around and peeled the bandage back. I gave him a moment to look at it and turned back around. “It’s a Medusa. I looked it up. It means good fortune.” He sighed in relief and we kept walking.

Poor guy. I mean, how was I supposed to tell him? ‘Oh sorry, it means I’m gonna turn to stone!’ What kind of person do you take me for?

We finally made it to my door. He leaned in and I kissed him. I gave him a long hard hug. “What was that for?” He asked, laughing as he hugged me back.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just felt like it.” I said, a smile on my face even though I wanted to cry.

He grinned back. “Well, good night. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you, April!” He added over his shoulder.

“Good night!” I shouted back. As soon as the door closed I burst into tears and ran to the nearest mirror.

A shockwave ran through me as my fate started to take hold. It started at my feet, working its way up to my face. God, why did it hurt so bad. I could feel every organ it passed over start to slow and finally stop working.

I took one last deep breath and fell into a deep, painful sleep.

Never wanted to be apart of this “famiy thing" becuse I felt like it Was too mueto hande. But inheritance is inheritance. Its been several years since ive earned my tatoo license, and everthing has been easy ever since. They walk in with different expressions, they sit down, I do my Job, they leave. Simple.

But have I even considered getting my Own fate? Wrote? I mean maybe its Forbided…-Or it Just wouldn’t make any sense. Everyone sets to see There Fate on theyre very own body but why cant I see mines? Why Couldnt I? What Went Wrong? Did I not follow by fanily rules? Have the Gods of foresight Forsaken me?As the boy layed down in a Pool of his own blood, memories began to flood his mind.Usually for ordinary People, their fate are written and is Forever on their body. As **for Fate witers,they get theirs as visions or marked on thier bodies when they are born. Then immediately erased at the peak of their childhood.His mark,was a star and in the middle of that star was covered in red. Now,he realizes that he should’ve told someone or at least remember taken it into some consideration. Guess it’s too late for that now.”stupid artist.why couldn’t you tell me before?”*

The Fates. The tattoo parlour was known across the whole world. Queues of people would turn up outside for an unknown artwork that symbolised the rest of their entire life.

You had watched for years as a kid, watched the expressions of those who entered and their reactions afterward.

Some people remained as overjoyed and excited as they were when they entered. Others were red eyed and clawing at their skin. Some came out unmoved and unimpressed with a blank look in their eyes.

Now you were finally eighteen you knew you could join them, wait in that long line and watch as your fate was permanently scarred into your skin in black ink.

But you were hesitant and rightly so. Watching the people come and go for the last decade or so had taught you that sometimes fate was best left alone. To be discovered as you discovered life.

A friend had been earlier in the year, being one of the older members of your circle of friends. They had gloated at first about the tattoo of fate, but had never shown it, claiming it was still “healing.”

But when news got out that their fated tattoo was a pair of intertwining chains, the smug pride turned into aggressive defiance.

You recognised the irony and understood their tattoo as they turned from one person into another. They had chained themselves into that fate, by fearing the chains on their leg, they could never stop worrying. So focused on the fate they could have, that they had chained themself into it. Just as the Fates had fortold.

This is why you hesitated.

If you were to be told your future, how would you live without it constantly on your mind? And what if it was something so ambiguous you would be trapped to never know and live in fear of what could be?

Or you could remain at peace with the ignorant bliss of letting the universe guide you.

Life would unravel as it was fated to.

A tough decision, but one you found yourself taking very little time to mull over.

You would get it in a place you could never see, in a place a mirror would be required to even catch a glimpse. You would live alongside your fate, and see if what was predicted would come true.

And when the day came for your appointment you told the Fates your plan and they beamed at you.

“As you wish.”

As they crafted the artwork that secured your future, unknown to you, the image of freedom made its home in your skin.

A tattoo artist can link your fate with your skin. I walk into the shop to get mine done and it was the symbol of dying young. The next morning… I didn’t wake up. And there was no erasing it or changing it the End bum bum bummmm.

When the Ink attaches to the skin Like a shark is to its fin Your fate gets decided by you And only can be given by the power of a few But let’s say you let me Being the man I be Choose your fate for you Then… Then… I feel so so sorry for what I must do

As a tattoo artist, I have many stories of things I have tattooed. But when you produce special ink that changes people fates, the requests just get weirder. The usual if a dollar sign for money or a heart for love. I once had someone you wanted a tombstone and I immediately said no to that. One request they loved but so knew they were going to regret: a crown. It represents royalty. Last I heard, re ran away from the prince she was engaged to.

Inked seemingly from head to toe, the man in front of her had a wickedly intense gaze from which she could not tear away.

"What does that one mean?"

She tilted her head toward his forearm, painted with the intricacies of a tarot card. She knew nothing about those.

"The Wheel. Opportunity for fortune and... the like."

"Do you have any of its companions on you?"

He nodded almost imperceptibly but said no more.

Vivienne floated her glance around the room, eyeing the sheaths of fabric draped around its walls. The carnival tent, she found, was much larger on the inside than it had appeared when she approached. The flaps of the tent had been open. Inviting, coaxing. Nameless was the tent, so she had been quite unsure what lie inside for her to find, but now here she sat.

The man in front of her was unfortunately bald, yet not one lick of skin was uncovered by swirling ink, depicting rattler snakes and constellations and the mysteries of tarot. Vivienne knew not what any of them meant to him, only that he implored her to let him mar her just the same.

"Your skin is not unmarked."

"What an astute observation," Vivienne deadpanned. Though how he was sure she was hiding a tattoo of her own underneath her relatively modest attire, she didn't want to know.

She kept her eyes trained to the table between them, uncompanionable silence filling the tent. She desperately wanted to go home.

Risking a glance behind her, Vivienne saw that the flaps of the tent had closed themselves, sealing her inside. The man gave her a small, knowing smile. She was not to leave, then.

"Are you opposed to tempting fate this night?"

Vivienne was unsure of how to answer.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"This tent, you see, was designed to invite only those who are troubled by the unknown. Haunted by the possibilities of fortune or misfortune. Destiny."

"I don't believe in that."

"Sure, sure."

Vivienne found herself suddenly very uncomfortable. Her back went rigid of its own accord, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her folded hands together. The tattooed man only looked at her, waiting for a response she didn't know how to give.

"What do they mean?" she ventured.

"What's that?"

"Your tattoos, I mean," she said. "You have many. Surely some of them mean something to you."

She used her head to gesture toward his exposed chest and the rattler snake inked in its center. The tattoo was heavily detailed, like much of the rest, and depicted the rattler's vicious eyes and deathly teeth bared directly at its viewer.

"Like that one. What is it for?"

Vivienne disregarded the quiver in her voice as she spoke. She tried in vain to ignore her discomfort, but the man's unwavering gaze was difficult to dismiss.

"Oh, like all the rest. Fate, fortune. That is what I do, as I'm confident you've gathered."

She had gathered no such thing.

"So your tattoos... they're all about fate?"

"Quite."

Vivienne considered this for a moment.

"You do them yourself."

"I appreciate the lack of question," he replied. A brief moment's pause allowed her just enough time to become confused before he continued, "I do them myself and I do them for others."

Vivienne nodded, yet again at a loss for a reply and increasingly aware of how awkward the situation was becoming.

"Ink would suit you, were you to indulge in it," the man said to break the silence.

"Is it your belief that I harbor some secret desire to be covered in ink like yourself? Because that's not what I'm here for."

"And what is it that you are here for, then?"

The man's question rendered her speechless. Why was she here?

He nodded at her loss and picked up the tattoo gun that was perched on the table.

"Do you want to uncover your fate? Or leave it open for change?"

His query was far from simple. Vivienne had never given fate any consideration because she just hadn't believed in it. And yet, when she had approached this tent from the circle of many present at the carnival, she'd felt that her feet had led her here unwillingly. She scarcely even remembered entering or sitting down or introducing herself to this stranger. Is fate a temptress that leads you blindly into the dark? Is that what that was supposed to feel like?

Vivienne did have one tattoo. One that she did herself with a stick-and-poke, newly and dumbly seventeen. It was almost entirely faded now as she approached her thirties, but some semblance of it remained, tucked into its place above her knee. She glanced down at it now, lacking any of the distaste she usually felt when she looked at it. It was barely visible under her tights, but the sight of it jarred her all the same as the little carnival tent inked into her skin stared back at her.

Maybe that was fate.

She considered the man before her, his face permanently marred by the symbols and lettering he'd embedded in the skin, his torso and arms swathed in whorls and swirls of ink. She admired the handiwork, truly, but she was getting the impression that they were more than just ink.

This tent was designed to invite only those who are troubled by the unknown, he'd said. And what was Vivienne if not troubled?

"I'll uncover my fate, then, what the hell?" She layed her arm down on the table between them, feeling and thinking nothing as the man pressed needle after needle into her flesh, marking it and supposedly uncovering her fate at long last.

I wanna be famous She whispers For what I reply

I don’t know She replies So I paint a scene On her thigh

I wish to be famous She whispers Be carefup what you wish for I silently scream

I see her on the news In orange Height of 5’4 Guilty

Known for her crimes Instead of her looks She got what she wanted But its not her desire